Page 73 of Playing It Forward

He barks out a laugh.

I step beside him. “Shorten your base.” I tap his cleat lightly with mine. “Stay balanced. Quarterbacking isn’t about throwing the hardest. It’s rhythm. Timing. Trusting your body.”

Trusting your body. The words hit me harder than they should. Because I don’t trust mine anymore. Not my shoulder. Not after the playoff game. Not after months of pain that refuses to disappear.

I shove the thought away and focus on Beck.

“Again,” I say.

This time he shortens his stride. The ball comes out cleaner. Tight spiral. Chest height.

“There you go. Feel the difference?”

His eyes light up. “Yeah.”

“Again.”

Three throws later, the panic has nearly left his face. His motion loosens. The ball snaps from his hand instead of floating.

“Quarterbacks get in their own heads. You miss a throw and suddenly you start dissecting every movement instead of playing football.”

Beck nods. “Exactly.”

I stare downfield. “You can’t play scared.”

Which is funny coming from me considering I’m terrified every time pain shoots through my shoulder. I’m absolutely terrified the next throw will be the one my arm can’t recover from.

Beck tosses me the football. “How do you stay calm?”

I catch it one-handed. “You don’t.”

He quirks a brow.

“You learn to play through the noise.” I shrug. “Pressure. Fear. Expectations. It’s all still there. But you have to let it stop controlling your feet.”

Beck studies me for a moment before nodding.

“Again,” I tell him.

We throw for another twenty minutes. By the end, Beck’s passes are sharper, and his confidence is back.

Coach Wilson watches from the sideline with narrowed eyes. “What’d you do?”

“Told him to stop thinking so much.”

Wilson snorts. “You should try taking your own advice sometime.”

I open my mouth with a smartass response ready, but it dies before I can say it. Because for the first time since the injury, something shifts inside me. My shoulder may not survive football forever.

But standing out here helping Beck? Watching the game click for him? Watching confidence replace panic?

That felt good too. Maybe terrifyingly good. Maybe my career isn’t over if my shoulder doesn’t recover. Maybe there’s a different path for me.

My gaze drifts to Beck still throwing balls in the field. Coaching? I never considered coaching as a possibility. I assumed I’d play ball until I was forty and then retire.

I’d find a woman and raise a family. I’d be a hands-on dad. Help with diapers and late night colic. Do school runs. Hell, maybe I’d even join the PTA.

But my timing’s off. Terri’s pregnant now. Our little mermaid can’t wait until it’s time for me to retire. I rotate my shoulder. Maybe retirement’s not the plan. Maybe there’s another option. One that includes me being around for the little mermaid. And for Terri.